She recalled how Zoe mocked her for being so straight-laced. If only she knew. The boathouse … it was so long ago, but the memory was easily recalled, bringing with it a fresh dose of pain. That awful night, when her father came home drunk, calling her dead mother’s name. His breath, soured from beer and cigarettes, was heavy on her face as he climbed into bed, clawing at her nightdress. She wriggled free that night, and he always acted as if he didn’t remember a thing. But Jennifer knew. If he didn’t take her innocence then one of his scummy friends would. She hoped the memory resurfaced in his regression sessions. She’d like to see how his girlfriend would cope with that little nugget of information. But as bad as he was, her father was right. She had set fire to the boathouse. Had she really wanted to kill him as she placed the candles under the curtains where he slept? Hatred had consumed her for the man that was meant to be her protector. It was him or them. She had to protect her sister. Or was that too easy an explanation for a woman who couldn’t face her past? Jennifer rubbed her eyes, trying to push the memories back into their box. She couldn’t face them. Not now. She would rather spend the rest of her days risking her life protecting others, than face her own fraught past.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bert
The cards were just tools, an extension of the woodlands in which they were hidden. Bert knew his mother would see sense and demand he return the gifts she lavished upon him, but he had hidden the cards far from her reach in the woodland soil.
That night his path was well lit, as he visited his haunt in the forest. The air felt different somehow, and the raven flew with a sense of purpose overhead. Swooping and cawing, it led him to the tall tree that was so alive he could almost feel it breathe. Bert sat at the mossy base, closing his eyes as he inhaled the dead leaf smell. Digging his fingers into the dirt, he enjoyed the tickle of creatures as they slithered through his fingers. Bert sat back on his knees, pulling handfuls of warm moist soil as he dug deeper.. He cleared the soil away from his special hiding place, squinting to see the small tin box nestled underneath the thick root, which had grown protectively over it. Nine months had passed since he had been given the cards, and he grunted as he pulled the small narrow tin box from its hiding place. The lid refused to give and he jammed his stubby dirt-lined nails under the tightly sealed lip. He had bided his time as they absorbed the energies of the land. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth and he tugged until the lid popped off with a whoosh. Wiping his dirty hands on the back of his clothes, he tipped the contents of the box onto his hands. Now tantalisingly musty and discoloured, the pictures were printed in intricate patterns and colours, emitting an energy all of their own. Like everything in the forest they had a quality that would be negative to others, but felt like home to him.
As dawn streaked through the sky in purple and pink hues, he entered his window as quickly as his muscles would allow. Bert held the cards under his nose, breathing in the sour odour. It was beautiful in comparison to the smell of bleach that permeated the house. The cards felt alive as he laid them on his bed, and each one told a story. They had lain in the ground for a long time, and returned to hands that would make good use of them. Bert did not need instructions, and in the quietness of his room when everyone was asleep, he laid the cards out again and again until he understood their meanings. They worked with him as he flicked them over, getting to grips with each image. Their hypnotic quality made him lose hours of the night under their spell. Once mastered, Bert began to resume a normal sleeping pattern. He was keen to get out in the world to put them to good use. The fact the raven chose him simply reinforced the knowledge that they were interlinked with the forest. His research on ravens in the old school library told him they were highly intelligent, associated with witchcraft and powers of divination. Bert smiled. He was strong and he was not alone. And with the cards giving him the power of prophecy, he was Raven.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Dr Carter’s telephone voice made him sound like a giant, but in the flesh, he was shorter than Jennifer in his wrinkled off-white suit. His vice-like handshake left Jennifer in no doubt that what he lacked in height he made up for in strength of character.
His office was exactly how she imagined it to be. A spacious but cosy grandfatherly room, with a hint of cigar smoke, featuring wood-panelled walls and a well-stocked bookshelf. The wall facing the street had two windows, and crooked venetian blinds filtered the afternoon light. Jennifer itched to straighten them until they were both the same level.
Dr Carter gestured towards the buttoned leather chair. ‘Please, have a seat.’ He paused, his eyes returning to the windows. ‘Would you like me to lower the other blind and switch on the lamp?’
‘No, that’s fine, thank you.’ Jennifer tried to contain her smile. Only a doctor dealing in the complexities of the human mind would notice her discomfort and understand the reasons behind it. She wondered if it was some kind of test, or if the pleasant pink-faced man was just good at his job.
Dr Carter sat back in his leather chair, his cheerful face a direct contrast to the oil painting of men in battle, which was hung on the wall overhead. He reminded Jennifer of Colonel Sanders with his pointed white beard and thatch of grey hair, and she developed a sudden craving for KFC. She brought her mind back to the task in hand, and hoped to commit his every word to memory.
‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice,’ she said, sitting on the edge of the leather sofa.
‘I was happy to do so. Do you understand what I meant on the phone when I said I was grateful for the opportunity to repay a debt?’
Jennifer nodded. ‘You mentioned my mother helped your family in the past.’
He steepled his fingers together, paling his lips as he pressed them against his teeth ‘That, my dear, is an understatement.’ Dr Carter reached for a framed photo on his desk and turned it to face her. A young blonde woman sat in her graduation cap and gown, clutching a ribboned certificate. She had the same small stature as Dr Carter, and her features encompassed the same determined expression.
‘This is Amelia. My wife and I had almost given up when God blessed us with her.’ Dr Carter’s face clouded over as he stared at the photo, drifting back to another time. ‘She was six years old when she disappeared. We thought she had been kidnapped while she played in the garden. My wife and I … we were hysterical. Your mother arrived at our door, and the warmth and respect she conveyed is something I will always remember. She arranged for a team of officers to search the streets and beyond, but she felt drawn to our back garden. She couldn’t explain it but she seemed to know that Amelia had not gone far. She squeezed through a gap in the fence to next door, and found a disused shed at the bottom of their garden. She found Amelia in an old chest freezer. She must have gone exploring and gotten trapped inside. She was blue and limp when your mother pulled her out. Elizabeth resuscitated her until the ambulance came. She could have died.’ Dr Carter paused, as if to give the memory respect.
‘My wife and I were very upset when we read of Elizabeth’s passing, and I was always left with a sense of regret that I didn’t thank her properly.’
‘I’m sure my mother received enough reward in finding your daughter. But having said that, I’m very grateful for any information you can give me on Bertram Bishop.’